


little things we leave behind

by stellare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Reincarnation, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellare/pseuds/stellare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the sight of nothing that makes him stop and think, ‘this could be everything.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	little things we leave behind

**Author's Note:**

> Not Brit-picked, my apologies!

It’s the sight of nothing that makes him stop and think, ‘this could be everything.’

Well that’s a lie - it’s not really nothing - but it’s not anything new either.

It’s in the way Arthur will drag himself to the toilet first thing in the morning to do his business, only to have Merlin pop in not a minute later to start brushing his teeth. (Merlin! - Arthur will yelp in what he insists is a most dignified way, and Merlin will raise an eyebrow that Gaius would be proud of and answer, _What? Your bodily functions are the same now as they were a thousand years ago._ )

It’s in the way Arthur will stumble into the kitchen after a rather luxurious lie-in on a Sunday morning to see Merlin guiding a broom around the kitchen floor in a tee and pajama bottoms, doing a more thorough job of singing into the handle than he is actually sweeping, his hair still tangled from sleep and his feet bare. An invisible pair of hands washes the pile of dishes in the sink - okay, that part isn’t quite so normal, but by this point Arthur is used to it - and a boiled egg and soldiers wait for him on the kitchen table, along with a rapidly cooling cup of coffee with no embellishments ( _Black like your heart_ , Merlin will tease, and to this Arthur will throw an apple at him.)

It’s in the way the two of them watch scary movies - in the dark with the blinds wide open, and with Merlin whispering ‘don’t be such a scaredy prat’ even as he has Arthur’s wrist in a death grip. And when the bloodied disembodied figure flashes onto the screen, Merlin startles so dramatically that he knocks the popcorn bowl over and sends kernels flying everywhere, and for a moment everything is still and quiet until the both of them look at each other and burst into sidesplitting laughter. ( _You are such a_ girl, _Merlin_ , Arthur chokes out when the chuckles finally die down, and reaches up to pluck a stray kernel from Merlin’s hair and pop it into his mouth.)

It’s in the way Merlin celebrates cold and rainy days - sitting at the window curled up in what Arthur has deemed the world’s ugliest cardigan, smiling and fogging up the glass with his breath and drawing smiley faces in the condensation with his fingers. Or he’ll actually step outside, huddled into himself - and exhale, his eyes glowing gold as the miniature clouds from his breath morph into horses, dragons. (Occasionally he’ll also make chickens, which then makes him laugh so hard that he snorts and Arthur has no choice but to call him the world’s greatest idiot.)

It’s in the way Merlin studies, sitting cross-legged on the sofa with his textbook in his lap, a pencil tucked behind one of those ridiculous ears. He mouths the words as he reads, highlighting with his left hand and writing notes in the margins with his right, and when Arthur notices that the highlighted portions look like the work of a seismograph, Merlin pointedly ignores him. A pair of white and gold Beats sit in his ears, leaving Arthur to wonder what Merlin’s music of choice is for this particular study session. (Six months ago it was Bach, three months ago it was Louis Armstrong, and last week it was the chanting of Gregorian monks. The curiosity and confusion is well-founded, Arthur thinks.)

It’s in the way Merlin eats - waiting until after Arthur’s had the first bite before starting himself in a sort of underlying deferential habit (even as he steals some of Arthur’s brisket and makes irreverent comments about how Arthur should probably go out and play football a bit more often as he’s looking awfully plump round the middle these days). He sits almost sideways on his chair so his back can rest against the wall, and the motions of eating and drinking are sequestered to one hand so that he can more freely talk and punctuate his words with the other hand.

There are no grand gestures, no loud declarations - it’s the way Merlin has always gotten things done, the way Merlin has always been - unobtrusive, power hidden behind a charming smile, and so much wonder in his quiet.

Ultimately, it’s in the way Arthur slips in after midnight - a marathon study session at the library with the other business students has left him bone tired - to the smell of Thai takeaway and the sight of Merlin sprawled on the sofa with his eyes closed, his skin touched by the pale yellow lamplight and his features sleepy-soft. It leaves Arthur breathless, hesitant to move and shatter the illusion, but when he blinks and the world doesn’t end right then and there, he takes it as a sign that it’s safe to move forward. He sits down in front of the sofa, his heart drumming, and as Merlin shifts in his sleep while letting a content noise escape his throat, Arthur can’t help but smile and think maybe he’s a little bit foolish for his sleeping roommate - for his friend, for his _someone_ of over a thousand years.  
  
Maybe this time destiny got it right. Maybe this is his everything. (But if he brushes his fingers through Merlin’s hair, admiring the sweep of his eyelashes on his cheekbones, the gentle curve to his lips, Arthur will never tell. Not yet, anyway.)


End file.
